


Hierogamy

by kerithwyn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sedoretu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hierogamy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nereid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nereid/gifts).



> Written for Rare Pair Fest 2014 for nereid. In your letter you mentioned liking "queens, men as their loyal huntsmen, polyamory, and fairytale AUs." I ran with that.

They lived in a high castle, Queen Allison of the White and her most beloved advisor, Lydia the Bean-sídhe. The keep looked out on the queendom, tiny yet well guarded; and much of the credit for that security fell to the quick and able talents of Sir Scott of clan McCall. The land's safety rested between the Bean-sídhe's precognitions and the chief huntsman's claws. And in times of need, the queen's sure aim with her bow and surety of command led her willing soldiers to victory.

In these lands it had become the custom among the people to take lovers as they would. Two might choose share their affections, or three, or more. But none made permanent their associations until there were four together, wholly committed and loving; four being deemed the ideal number for a true partnership. Such permanent bindings were therefore rare, and most never dreamed of or sought after such a state.

So it was that Allison and Lydia had long been lovers, even before the queen rose to her exalted throne. They made a stunning portrait, the ebon-tressed huntress and the fey sorceress. One rarely moved without the other, sworn as they were in pledges of friendship and love. 

"Lydia," the queen said in a particular tone one early evening, her head pillowed on her friend's white belly, "I was thinking...."

Lydia smiled. "Yes, Ali," she said, which was both acknowledgement of the forthcoming appeal and implicit agreement to the request, regardless of its content. Lydia would deny her queen nothing.

Allison turned to look up into Lydia's face, grinning. "One day you may regret offering such absolute agreement."

"I haven't yet," Lydia replied quietly. "But ask, then, and see if your question refutes my accord."

"Say no for any reason, and without hesitation."

Lydia stared at her queen. "Have you ever known me not to offer my opinion, regardless of the subject?"

Allison laughed. "I depend on your forthrightness. So, then: I was thinking about our huntsman. He has been loyal without question, and proven his devotion. And beyond that...." she paused, flushing slightly.

"And beyond that," Lydia continued, amused, "he looks to you with yearning in his eyes, and you have finally noticed. —Oh, Allison, do not be abashed! This is hardly the first time a man has caught your attention, and I have never begrudged you your dalliances. Nor you mine."

Allison smiled her agreement, and then her smile turned sly. "Would you be interested in joining us?"

"He is comely," Lydia said, conceding the point. "Yet I—" and now it was her turn to pause.

"Don't want him as I do." Allison smirked slightly. "He is awkward, on occasion. But earnest." She kissed Lydia's belly and slid downward. "Fear not. None shall come between us," Allison declared, and set about demonstrating her devotion. 

Thus Queen Allison invited Sir Scott into her bedchamber, and before long the castle rang with their ecstatic shouts. Lydia merely smiled and returned to her own neglected researches. 

As the days wore on, Allison and Scott became nearly inseparable. That, too, was not unexpected; passion's first blush demands new lovers' full attention. Allison still made time to see Lydia: certainly on official business, and a kiss stolen here and there. Whenever she seemed like to apologize for her divided attention, Lydia laughed and sent her back to Scott. The infatuation would burn out in time.

But as weeks turned into months it became clear this was no mere infatuation after all. Allison tried to split her leisure time equally between Lydia and Scott, to the satisfaction of none and to Allison's clearly growing frustration. Lydia finally took matters into her own hands, summoning Scott to the palace gardens. 

He arrived promptly, seeming nervous. Lydia eyed him narrowly. "Despite what you might have heard, sir, I do not bite." Unless asked, she amended privately, but that was none of his concern. 

He bowed with a wry twist of his lips, acknowledging his trepidation. "But you have been known to scream."

She smiled back at him sweetly. "I anticipate no such necessity here." She raised a meaningful eyebrow and Scott belatedly offered his arm as they stepped onto the garden path.

"I love her," Scott said, unprompted and graceless, but with conviction. He glanced down at Lydia. "I know you do too."

"Yes," she said simply, and waited to see what he might offer next. 

"I...don't want her to choose," Scott said, more quietly. Lydia could see the afternoon sun reflecting in the amber of his eyes. "I would never ask her to forswear someone she loves."

"Nor I." They were approaching the center of the garden. Lydia let go Scott's arm and turned to face him fully. Doubtless an incongruous sight, given his height and hers, but Lydia was secure in her place. "So then it seems we needs must work out an accord between us, lest our beloved queen exhaust herself trying to please us both."

He blushed but did not falter. "Lady—"

"Lydia," she said with small impatience. "If we are to be intimate conspirators, we ought at least be on familiar terms."

"Lydia. I would like—can we be friends?"

She blinked at him, startled. She owned the respect of the people, certainly, and alongside that they held no little fear of her arts. Friends she had none, save Allison, and Lydia had never felt a lack. Yet here stood this inelegant man, offering unasked-for kindness. 

She blinked again for another reason entirely. "Scott. I sought only alliance. You need not—"

"But I want to," he said, with all the earnestness Allison had spoken of. "You are wise, and Allison loves you. I admire you." And then blushing again, as if he had heard his own words: "I don't mean...I didn't mean to suggest...."

"No, Scott," Lydia said, laughing now. "I don't want you either." 

He grinned at her, finally seeming at ease. "But we can learn to like each other. For Allison."

"And perhaps for ourselves?" she offered, feeling oddly shy. But Scott just beamed at her as if she'd made the finest suggestion he'd ever heard, and Lydia found herself smiling back. 

Between them they managed Allison and found a congenial balance. Allison, no fool, knew herself to be guided and allowed it with gratitude. The lords and ladies at court breathed sighs of relief and returned to their favorite pastime, their gossip revolving often around the curiously amicable behavior of the queen's separate lovers. 

And it was curious, at least for Lydia, to spend significant time with someone who was neither lover nor scholar. Scott was as honest and straightforward as Allison had claimed, a refreshing change from the hangers-on at court. She came to adore him too, his friendship a rare gift Lydia cherished alongside her love for Allison.

They might have continued so for some time, were it not for a new arrival. Into the fair queendom rode a traveler, mockery on his lips and no weapon at his side.

Stiles, he called himself, of no realm or clan. An itinerant traveler who brought with him stories of empires far away, so distant that no one could vouch or gainsay his claims. He spoke in common tongue, yet so charmed everyone he met that word of his exploits (or rather, the way he spoke of the exploits of others) made way even to the castle.

Soon he was invited into the homes of the lesser lords and then the greater, simply for the pleasure of hearing him spin tales of adventure. He spoke of mythic beasts and impossible landscapes, although Stiles was never at the center of his tales. Questions about his homeland were met with deflection, although none believed that malice lurked underneath his evasions. Some awful tragedy, people surmised, spinning their own tales. The poor lad clearly had no true home, so it fell to the folk of the queendom to make him welcome in theirs. 

Which spanned all the way to the castle, as Stiles was swept along with the nobility into the entertainments of the court. So it was that Lydia had heard of him before they met face-to-face; but after the required formal introductions, she caught him gawking at her in an entirely unseemly manner. Lydia's jaw tightened and she gathered her skirts, marching across the room to confront him in high dungeon. "If you have aught to say to me, sirrah—"

"Your hair," Stiles blurted out, "is _amazing._ "

Lydia stared back. Her hair marked her as fey, other and dangerous, certainly not to be gawked at or spoken to in such familiar terms. Yet this man—

This man continued undeterred by her glare. "I've never met a Bean-sídhe. Is it true, what they say about your scream?"

"Pry further," Lydia said through gritted teeth, "and you may find out for yourself."

Stiles looked taken aback, as if he genuinely didn't realize he'd given offense. "Forgive me, Lady. I have a bad habit of asking questions without restraint. That's how I learn about the world."

It was, completely by accident, precisely the right thing to say. How could she deny anyone else the search for knowledge, when she pursued learning so assiduously? Lydia took a deep breath. "Pray forgive my temper. I'm told it comes with the hair."

"Both become you," Stiles said.

In the past, Lydia had been drawn to two kinds of men: those of considerable physical brawn whom she used to satisfy a purely physical itch; and those of sharp wits and sharper tongues, who provided her with intellectual entertainment as well as the other.

This one's tongue was more slippery than sharp, and his words were sweet. It would not be unpleasant, she decided, to hear more. 

His refusal to give straight answers annoyed her. And yet she found herself coming back to talk with him, to debate and hear his half-truths and amusing lies. He fascinated and irritated her in equal measure, and did not hesitate to argue with her over the slightest difference in opinion. That, Lydia treasured above all else.

It wasn't until they were in the middle of such a discussion that she discovered with some surprise that she wanted to take him for herself. 

"But because you haven't seen something doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Stiles was arguing. 

"You are infuriating," Lydia declared, and kissed him to stop his unceasing nonsense. Only briefly, and with enough overt forewarning to declare her intent if he wished to refuse.

By his eager response, she knew he did not; and yet his look of astonishment when she drew back seemed at odds with his well-traveled persona. Lydia saw how unsure he was underneath the bravado, the undisguised sincerity in his eyes unmistakable.

"Lydia," he breathed. "I would— I would stay a time, forever, if you say a word—"

She patted his cheek. "It would be nice...." She smiled, realizing how unlike her the sudden desire might seem. "For once, I would like to take things slow."

Stiles breathed out sharply. "You're toying with me."

"No." The denial was automatic, and sincere. "There is something here. I would...like time, to let it flourish." She looked away, in part to escape the intensity of his gaze. "I haven't always been wise in these matters. It's a wonder that Allison..." Lydia broke off, realizing she was saying too much.

But Stiles seemed to understand, or at least, he was canny enough to grasp the opportunity. "Grant me leave to...court you, then, and I promise, in time you will be begging me to stay." A sly smile started to play on his lips. "Oh, the ancient poems I could recite! The gifts I could bring you! Does the lady prefer flowers or sweets delivered to her doorstep? Six times a day, or more?"

"Make a pest of yourself and I will recant," Lydia cried, but she was laughing too hard for the threat to bear any weight at all.

"You are distracted," Allison said the following night, when she and Lydia were together. "And perhaps I know why, although I mislike hearing from the palace gossips you have taken a lover—"

"I have not _yet,_ " Lydia said tartly. "Unless you consider a single kiss to be a declaration. What the gossips make of it, I care not." Her tone softened. "Ali, Stiles has expressed interest, and I the same. But I would not take another to my bed without your approval."

"As if I would withhold it for any reason! But this man...." Allison turned her head, clearly trying and failing to hide a smirk. "Perhaps not your usual fare?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and Allison broke into most unqueenly giggles. "He's adorable! All the palace ladies want to steal him away." She added, more soberly, "But he must be worthy, for what you see in him."

"He is," Lydia said, softly. "And...different, as you say. But better for it."

"So then," Allison said, equally gently, "I wish you joy of him, my dear."

Lydia kissed her then, all the promises between them assured.

Although the queendom now flourished in a time of unprecedented peace and prosperity, it still fell to the land's protectors to keep alert for any threat. Lydia, with her extraordinary perception, was the first to realize that something was wrong.

In the heart of the Queen's Grove stood an ancient tree. No bird nested in its branches, nor did any animal lurk nearby; the leaves constantly shivered though no breeze stirred. For as long as this tree had stood, the lifeblood of the land flowed freely; although the precise relationship, none had ever been able to discern. The tree did not care who held the land, nor who claimed it as political borders shifted. But all who held mortal power over its domain took care to pay the tree the honor it was due, fearing its ancient indeterminate power.

Allison had done the same when she won the crown, preserving the old traditions with care. Yet Lydia had begun to sense a vague disruption, a subtle shift in the undercurrents of the unseen. To all other eyes the tree seemed unchanged, but the tenor of the grove had altered to become less welcoming. No one had sensed anything amiss, save Lydia. She confided in Allison, whose unreserved acceptance and belief endeared her to Lydia all the more. She found nothing in any chronicle to diagnose the problem, yet the unheard dissonance had begun to grate, setting her teeth on edge and her nerves afire. All her art proved useless, and her learning too.

So Lydia called a council, albeit a private one: she and the queen and the huntsman and the traveler. Stiles was not properly in the queen's inner circle, and her advisors would rightly resent his presence. But Lydia had come to value his opinions—even if she sometimes wondered at his reasoning—and she hoped he might have encountered a similar dilemma in his travels. 

She arrived at the discussion to find Scott laughing with Stiles. When they had grown so close, Lydia did not know; but of course Stiles had made his own life here, apart from her. Still, she was glad to see how they had taken to each other, as if they had known each other since they had their milk teeth. 

Lydia relayed her perceptions to Scott and Stiles, feeling half a fool. Scott seemed willing to take her word, after a single glance at Allison.

Stiles looked from one to the other of them, puzzled. "Have you tried _talking_ to it?"

Lydia whirled on him ready to remonstrate, but paused at the sight of Allison's face, a mixture of perplexity and chagrin. Scott, meanwhile, had started to laugh.

"It's...a plant," she said slowly, trying to follow his logic. "Why would we— and how—"

Stiles shrugged, the motion seeming to indicate that he'd done his part. "Ask why it's upset? That generally works with people."

Lydia frowned but could not argue the point. And since she was the only one to sense the disturbance—and as the queendom's most sensitive medium—she had no choice but to make the attempt.

In her researches, Lydia had gone back into the distant archives for any mention of the tree. In the oldest times, blood sacrifice had been made to appease its imagined demands; but Allison would burn it to the ground before she allowed such a thing, and Lydia would hand her the torch.

The tree seemed indifferent to such offerings in any case. Lydia did not truly expect to receive any answer, despite Stiles' glib suggestion. But the moment she laid her hand on the ancient bark with the question in mind, a flood of images rushed into her mind.

By the time she left the grove, Lydia was more confused than ever. The imagery she'd been shown was full of symbolism and nothing, to her mind, that a tree would care about. But her books confirmed her interpretation, so the only thing left was to bring the tree's demand to the queen.

For both her sake and Allison's, Lydia refused to dither. "It wants a ritual of reaffirmation of your bond to the land. A sacred marriage."

Allison stared at her for a moment, then began, "Then you and I—" but Lydia cut her off with a rueful shake of her head.

"At heart this is a fertility rite. As far as the tree is concerned, I lack the appropriate accoutrements." She punctuated her opinion of the notion with a ridiculous face, hoping to soften the blow.

Allison laughed as Lydia had intended, but then she started to pace. "This is necessary? Scott would be willing, but..." She came over to take Lydia's hands in her own. "I would never leave you behind." She chewed on her lip. "And no matter what the tree wants, I would not flout our traditions either."

Lydia loved her for both concerns, but the buzzing in the back of her head demanded answer. Immediately if not sooner. "Perform the ritual with Scott. You have my leave, if you require it. The rest we can figure out in time."

Allison looked dubious, but she accepted the necessity—although she left Lydia with an admonition that she would not wait forever for a more satisfactory answer.

She found the beginning of it, entirely by accident, when she happened on Scott and Stiles kissing in a supposedly abandoned corridor. Lydia watched them for a moment, unabashed, enjoying the sight. She might not want Scott for herself, but she'd have no objections to seeing him—

And there, perhaps, was an answer. They were four, if not a traditional arrangement of partners. Despite her reassurances, Allison's "marriage" to Scott—however symbolic—left all concerned feeling unbalanced. Lydia's own relationship with Stiles had progressed, so that his presence seemed as needful as air; and Allison seemed to enjoy his company as well.

Lydia would have preferred more time to consider, but Allison wanted a quick resolution.

"I won't lose you," Allison declared passionately, in her way. "Yet as I love you, how could I deny you your own love? And I have come to love Stiles dearly as well, without wanting to take him to my bed." She took Lydia's hand, squeezing. "How may we arrange ourselves, my very dear, to keep close those we love?"

"On that, I have a notion," Lydia replied, even if the details remained uncertain. "How fortunate we are that the queen may live as she chooses, and perhaps set an example for others."

And so after much discussion they established the first sedoretu, the morning marriage and the evening marriage. The rule of fours remained sacrosanct, with all partners having an abiding love and respect for each other; and how they arranged themselves in the bedchamber was no one's concern but their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Hierogamy = hieros gamos, the sacred marriage represented (often symbolically) in several traditions.
> 
> I'd been wanting to write a sedoretu for a while, and this set of characters seemed perfect for it. Here's one explanation: 
> 
> Sedoretu are four-way marriages on the Planet of O, which appears in "The Birthday Of The World" by Ursula K. LeGuin. Society is divided into two moieties, called the Morning and the Evening. You don't have sex with anybody of your own moiety. A sedoretu is a marriage comprised of a man and a woman from the Morning moiety and a man and a woman from the Evening moiety. (The fanlore wiki entry has a more detail, for those interested.)
> 
> Morning: Stiles, Allison  
> Evening: Lydia, Scott
> 
> A loose—very loose—nod to the nemeton.
> 
> Lucan: "no bird nested in the nemeton, nor did any animal lurk nearby; the leaves constantly shivered though no breeze stirred."


End file.
